Zoe moved Wash’s hand from her softly rounded belly and levered herself from the bed. The discomfort in her abdomen had wrenched her from a restive sleep as it progressed from a dull ache to a twisting pain. Feeling feverish and stiff with malaise, she rose slowly and padded through the dark cabin to the head. She drew a glass of water and rolled it against her forehead before drinking it down without pause. The coldest water Serenity had to offer was tepid at best, but it gave Zoe some relief as she swabbed her face and neck with a washcloth.

The tinny clatter of water in the metal sink basin roused Wash partially and he reached across the bed for his wife’s warm body. He pawed blindly at the cotton sheet, but instead of smooth and warm, his fingers found wet and cooling.

“Aí ren?”

“I’m okay. I just feel a little sick tonight.”

“No, Zoe.” Wash threw the sheets off the bed, jumped to his feet and switched on the bedside lamp. “Look.”

The red blotch on the sheet was nearly a foot across. It was in that moment that Wash saw the inconsonant look of fear in his wife’s eyes for the first time. The blood on the bed had done what no gun barrel or artillery had ever been able to do. Wash smashed his whole hand against the comm. panel by the ladder, “Doc! We need you in the infirmary now!” The frantic message went out to every comm.-equipped area of the ship.

Simon was waiting for them in the infirmary when Wash helped Zoe in and onto the adjustable bed. He was barefoot, wearing an undershirt and knit sleep pants, hair mussed, but his eyes were alert and focused. “When did this start?”

“I don’t know. I woke up feeling pain and there was blood on the bed,” Zoe explained as Simon swiftly pulled on gloves and reached between her raised knees.

“Is the pain constant?”

“Comes in waves, every few minutes.”

“Zoe, you’re in active labor.”

“What?” Wash was standing at the head of the bed and leaned against it, feeling like his knees had been kicked out. “No. She’s only 24 weeks.